Turning back

If only I could turn back the clock,
I’d think clearly and pause,
Because when it’s too late I want to stop
And erase the pain I caused.

Deep in confusion
And out of control,
Hidden in darkness,
I let go of my soul.

Grasping the blade and I saw the world,
Pictures flashed through my mind,
Memories of my sins, the guilt fall upon me,
When I realised I’d been so unkind.

So I took 4 huge swoops,
As I clenched my fist,
And some littler, deeper cuts,
Straight into my wrist.

And it was like a tidal wave,
The blood trickled down,
More than ever before,
I then chose to hide my frown.

I covered the bleeding cuts all over my arm,
And felt sick in my stomach, after all of this harm.

And I could not bear for them to see,
The cuts that I wrote,
So I grabbed my favourite cord,
And tied it around my throat.

The other end tied strongly to a rung,
I let myself fall thinking “all this is done.”

But then I saw myself mirrored,
My face turning gray,
Felt sick and scared and whispered,
“I’ll stay.”

But now I must face my incisions,
Their darkness impossible to hide,
Though I really don’t want to,
I must accept my attempted suicide.

Though many people around,
Would have wanted me to succeed,
I’m glad I didn’t choke and didn’t let myself bleed.

And though self-harm in me has been rare and thin,
I know there’s no turning back to my pretty skin.